


and i shall be healed

by peacefrog



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Tomas parts the curtains just enough to let one eye peer out over the parking lot. He should have parked around back, out of sight of the road, but it’s too late for that now. He knows if he gets back behind the wheel, he’ll just keep driving until he’s home.





	and i shall be healed

Tomas parts the curtains just enough to let one eye peer out over the parking lot. He should have parked around back, out of sight of the road, but it’s too late for that now. He knows if he gets back behind the wheel, he’ll just keep driving until he’s home. He pulls the curtains shut tight and walks over to the bed, perching on the edge and wringing his hands in his lap. Television sounds drone on from the room next door, like an insect trapped beneath the wallpaper. 

Tomas tries to steady his breathing. His lungs feel paralyzed, yet he can’t stop gulping down air like a man half-drowned. His pulse thumps hotly beneath the black of his vestments. He reaches for his collar, finding nothing but the cold metal snap. Right. He’d at least had the good sense to hide that particular bit of shame away in the trunk of his car before booking the room.

He watches the clock. A quarter past three in the afternoon. He’s late, or he’s changed his mind. Perhaps, Tomas thinks, one of them will have the good sense to end this before it’s begun. 

But then, a knock. Once, lightly. Tomas nearly jumps out of his shoes. His heart fluttering between his lungs, he checks himself in the dirty mirror over the sink. His face is flushed, his hair is wild as his eyes. He looks nothing like the holy man who’d celebrated mass just hours ago. The stench of incense smoke clings heavily to his vestments. Tomas turns away from himself and crosses to the door.

Marcus’ face is obscured by his wide-brimmed black hat when Tomas opens the door to usher him inside. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind,” Tomas says.

Marcus tosses his hat down onto the bed and smiles. “Now why would I go and do something like that?”

“I don’t know.” Tomas laughs nervously. “I almost didn’t come.”

Marcus is dressed casually in too-tight jeans, and a threadbare t-shirt beneath his old leather jacket. He sits on the edge of the bed and kicks his boots off. Tomas watches him distantly, uncertain what to do with his hands, or with the rest of himself for that matter. 

Marcus looks over at him and smirks. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

Marcus shrugs off his jacket, tosses it onto the chair by the door, approaches Tomas like one might approach a wounded animal. “This was your idea, Father Tomas. Or don’t you recall?”

Tomas inhales sharply, watches the lines of Marcus’ limbs beneath his clothes as he moves. It would feel predatory were Marcus not brimming with such light. “I know, I—I just—” Tomas stammers, but before he can continue Marcus presses a hand to the center of his chest, stealing his breath and his words.

“It’s all right. Just breathe. The Church has nothing to do with what happens in this room.” Marcus brushes his thumb against the snap where Tomas’ collar should be. “Was hoping you’d save this for me.”

“It’s in my car. I didn’t want anyone to see it when I got the room.”

Marcus laughs softly. How can this be so easy for him. But Tomas knows, the life of a traveling exorcist is a world away from that of a parish priest. Or perhaps he’s just better at hiding his shame.

“Kiss me,” Marcus whispers, thumbing at Tomas’ chin. He slips his hands along Tomas’ face, cradles him by the nape, and Tomas cannot help by let his eyes fall shut, find Marcus’ lips in the dark.

Marcus kisses like he lives, messy and untamed. He threads his fingers in Tomas’ hair and tugs a little. Tomas moans into Marcus’ clever mouth. “Now what was it,” Marcus breaks the kiss, breathes hotly against Tomas’ neck, “you said that you wanted to do here exactly?”

Tomas swallows and grips the back of Marcus’ shirt. He’d nearly forgotten that part, but he’d been a mess that night, high on adrenaline and relief and God’s love. Marcus had spent three days exorcising a boy from Tomas’ parish, and he’d allowed Tomas to observe him in that dank little room with a mattress tacked over the window. Marcus was magnificent, thrumming and wild with the power of the Word, and when finally it was through both of them were so high they’d found themselves all tangled up together in the bed of Marcus’ truck, necking like hormone-crazed teenagers well into the night.

“I didn’t know what I was saying that night,” Tomas whispers, shuddering in Marcus’ arms. “I couldn’t think straight after what you showed me.”

“Yet here you are,” Marcus purrs. His erection presses obscenely into Tomas’ hip.

_If we had a place, some place that we could go, just the two of us alone, I’d get on my knees for you. I’d take you into my mouth like communion._

Tomas pulls away, so aroused that the room begins to tip and spin around him, and it’s as much for his own well-being as it is for desire that he drops to his knees right there. Shame clenches his belly tight as a fist. He wants to hide his face. Tomas wraps himself around Marcus’ middle, nestling into Marcus’ hip, and Marcus runs his fingers delicately through Tomas’ hair. Tomas breathes in the scent of him, nuzzling against the well-worn denim of Marcus’ jeans.

In the eyes of the Church this is a mortal sin. And as a priest, he’s turning his back on the sacred vows that for so many years he’s taken to heart. Tomas gazes up at Marcus, and all that shame cannot compare to the spark behind his eyes. He’s seen this man set alight with their Lord above. God flows through him, speaks His fury and His forgiveness through the lines of Marcus’ hands. After everything that Marcus has shown him, how can turning his body into a sacrament be anything but holy?

Marcus drags his thumb along Tomas’ bottom lip. “Would you prefer me on the bed?”

“No. No. Right here. Take these off,” Tomas says, breathless, tugging uselessly at Marcus’ belt.

Marcus pulls his shirt off and tosses it down onto the floor. Tomas can only sit back on his heels and watch, aching between his legs in a way he hasn’t known since seminary. Marcus unlatches his belt, his face calm, his eyes wide and brimming with lust. The belt flaps open, Marcus deft fingers work open his fly. He shoves his pants down around his thighs and takes himself in one strong hand.

“Come to me, love,” Marcus says, his lips parting obscenely, his chest heaving with his breath. “Or have you changed your mind?”

Tomas presses forward, his eyes locked on Marcus’ eyes, and runs his fingers tentatively along the hand that Marcus uses to hold himself. “No,” Tomas spits out, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“You don’t have to.” Marcus uses his free hand to stroke Tomas’ cheek. “We can just lie together on the bed.”

Marcus strokes himself lightly, the head of his cock red and glistening with beads of pre-come. Tomas’ mouth waters at the sight. “I’ll lie with you after,” he says. “Please.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. His shame feels like a distant memory. He parts his lips. Marcus touches him with such devotion.

“All right, then.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Tomas says. Not technically, he thinks. He supposes that time in seminary doesn’t count. After all, they’d only used their hands.

“Neither have I,” Marcus says cooly, still stroking himself near Tomas’ ever-parting lips.

“Then how can you be so calm?”

“What makes you think that I am?”

It’s only then that Tomas notices the deep red flush on Marcus’ cheeks, the way his thighs are trembling, and his hands. Tomas seizes the hand that caresses his face, takes Marcus’ wrist and feels for his pulse. It jumps frantic as a drum beneath Tomas’ fingers, and the ache between Tomas’ legs grows, until his cock is straining painfully against the zipper of his trousers.

“Okay,” Tomas breathes out, laughing a little, swallowing down the sound when he turns his eyes back to Marcus’ cock moving swiftly through his hand. Tomas grips his wrist and stills him, and Marcus follows his cue, letting his hand fall away to be replaced by Tomas’ own.

Marcus is slick and heavy in his palm. He groans, gripping Tomas’ hair and letting his eyes fall shut. Tomas gives the head of his cock a tentative kiss and he thinks, _forgive me. If this is in Your eyes a sin, forgive me, O Lord. But how can it be when You work through him? Is he not a vessel for Your grace, that which is so divine? Is to give to him not to worship at the altar of Your love?_

Marcus shudders beneath Tomas’ hands. _Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the word and I shall be healed._ Tomas takes Marcus into his mouth. He thinks of the sea, saltwater on his tongue. He thinks of baptism, being born again. His fear of his own inexperience washes away, entirely overcome with his own desire, with the desire he can feel spilling from Marcus in waves. Marcus digs his fingers into Tomas’ hair, dragging them along his scalp, and Tomas takes Marcus down until he gags.

Tomas pulls back, takes him in again, deeper this time, his soul rejoicing at the sounds spilling from Marcus, at the way he cradles the back of Tomas’ head, moves with him, rocks his hips in time with Tomas’ lips. Tomas gags again and it feels like a new beginning, pulling Marcus closer and closer to bliss his one true purpose in this life. Spit dribbles down his chin, and his own cock throbs between his legs. He could come just like this, he knows, has come in his pants untouched from far less in the past. He wills his body to be still, focus only on Marcus’ pleasure, and the words slipping from Marcus’ lips tell Tomas that he is not far now. No, he is there. His body is trembling all over now.

“Yes, Tomas. _Yes._ You’re so beautiful. So b—” Marcus cries out, tugs at Tomas’ hair in such a way it would be painful were it not giving Tomas such pleasure. He spills his warmth over Tomas’ tongue, onto his lips, his cock pulsing in time with his frantic heart. 

_He is in you now, His body as one with your body. Holy in your belly, transubstantiation._ Tomas licks the last of Marcus from his lips. He has never felt such satisfaction. Marcus lowers himself trembling onto the floor, folds Tomas up into his arms. He buries his face into Tomas’ neck, his face damp with tears. 

“Oh, Tomas. Tomas. Tomas.” Marcus paws at him, touching Tomas everywhere, reaching down blindly to get at his belt. “Let me,” he huffs out, but his hands are shaking too terribly to be of any use.

Tomas laughs, his head swimming and his body electric. “On the bed,” he manages, and together they struggle to their feet.

Marcus sheds his pants completely before lying down. Tomas strips off his shirt, tosses it blindly behind himself. Marcus lies lazily on his side, his own cock now soft between his legs. He gives Tomas a lazy, drunken smile. “Let me see you,” he says, his devout gaze raking over Tomas’ half-bare form. 

Tomas kicks his shoes off, peels off his socks. He’s so hard that he’s dizzy with it as he works his belt open with his trembling hands, shoves his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. Entirely bare, he joins Marcus on the bed. The quilt is scratchy beneath his skin, and he tries to not think of that thing he once read about motel room blankets. He figures, they’re in the thick of it now, what’s a little more filth to top off the afternoon.

Marcus draws him near, begins kissing his way down Tomas neck, his chest, but Tomas stops him in his tracks. “Stay here. Stay with me,” he pleads. “I want you to—” Tomas begins to blush. It seems silly to be stricken with such embarrassment now, asking for a thing quite innocent compared to what they’ve just done. 

Marcus strokes Tomas’ cheek adoringly. “You want me to use my hand on you?”

Tomas nods, his face burning hot. Marcus pulls their bodies together and kisses Tomas deeply.

Marcus breaks the kiss, whispers, “I’ve thought of you every second since I saw you last,” and takes Tomas into his hand.

It takes hardly any time at all for Tomas to find his release. Marcus kisses him again, strokes him slowly, whispers love against his skin. Tomas spills all over Marcus’ hand, crying out, digging his fingers into flesh wherever he can find it. Overcome with the rush of it all, he doesn’t realize he is weeping until Marcus pulls him into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he mutters into Tomas’ hair. “It’s all right, love. I’ve got you now.”

Tomas comes down gently. They hold one another. At some point, Marcus manages to get both of them beneath the covers. Tomas wonders absently when the shame will come rolling in like the tide.

“I’ll be moving on in a day or two,” Marcus says pulling Tomas a little closer against his chest. “You ever think about getting out of Chicago?”

“Are you asking me to come with you?”

“You could make a go of it, you know. Being an exorcist.”

“I don’t know the first thing about performing an exorcism.”

“You were there with me for three days, not sleeping, barely eating, thinking of nothing but saving that boy. I’d say that’s a bloody good start.”

“Yeah.” Tomas sighs, his heart rising and sinking in his chest. “What about my parish?”

Marcus is silent for a minute or two, his breathing even, his heart ticking steadily in Tomas’ ear. Finally he says, “I’ve never had a parish. Always been on my own. I can’t tell you what to do, Tomas. It’s not an easy life. There’s no retirement homes for those who do what I do. I’m not asking you to give up your life. I’m only saying, if you wanted to learn, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Tomas smiles, feeling drunk. He shuts his eyes. He listens to Marcus’ heart. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Of course,” says Marcus, pressing a kiss into Tomas’ hair. “Sleep on it if you need to.”

Marcus’ skin is warm and radiant. Tomas presses himself more firmly against it. Deep in his heart, an answer blooms, the shape of it one he’s known since he entered this room. Although he’d known it long before, when they’d first locked eyes in Bishop Egan’s office. “This is Father Marcus Keane,” Egan had said. “He’s been sent by Rome for the boy.”

And Marcus had smiled beneath his hat, said something clever with his upturned mouth, and Tomas knew he was a goner right then. Marcus had crashed on his couch that night, and Tomas didn’t sleep a wink. And Marcus made him eggs in the morning. And though he was terrified of what was to come, Tomas couldn’t stop smiling around his fork.

“I should be getting back soon,” Tomas says, gazing up at the lines of Marcus’ face, wondering at all he has known. Decades spent chasing the dark, holy and bright, just to land here in a filthy motel bed with the likes of Tomas Ortega. 

“Just five more minutes,” Marcus drawls, his eyes closed and his face content.

Tomas settles in, letting his eyes fall shut, not letting Marcus go. “Yes,” he says. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> This idea wouldn't leave me alone and I had to get it out. I just really love the idea of Tomas meeting Marcus at the top of his game, unbroken and unburdened by loss, and who doesn't love a torrid motel room affair am I right. Tomas Ortega doesn't stand a chance in any universe, but his thirst in this one might be unmatched. He is definitely going to follow Marcus to the ends of the earth. <3


End file.
